


Bedbugs & Pie

by StacPolly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 07:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18912037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StacPolly/pseuds/StacPolly
Summary: Christmas with the 'in-laws', when they’ve spent the entire day sucking each other’s mouths, dicks, and—Dean's inner thighs somehow shiver—his legs? They've only been together a day. No, that’s a step too far, for anyone.But Baby begs to differ.Dean gets to meet the Novaks a little earlier than he'd have liked... A little bit cracky, for festive cheer. An unofficial continuation, picking up where BendingSignpost's amazing Four Letter Word for Intercourse left off.





	1. Pie

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Four Letter Word For Intercourse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086839) by [bendingsignpost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingsignpost/pseuds/bendingsignpost). 



“Cas, you want me to help you with those?”

Castiel glances down at the foil-covered pecan pie in his lap. He looks at Dean, then through the windscreen, down the gravelled drive towards the twinkling, welcoming windows of Cas’s parents’ house.

There’s a rainbow flag next to the mailbox.

“Um.” Cas licks lips still bruised, pinker even than usual. “If we, if I pile them up, I can probably manage all three, right?”

Dean grins.

 “What?” It’s a little defensive, very Cas.

“Just wonderin’ how you're gonna explain how you’ve gone all Martha Stewart. You're obviously not usually the domestic type.”

Cas’s eyes, flicker to his, flaring momentary panic, before stilling. A familiar glint appears.

“How did you discover my secret?”

Wrong-footed, as with Cas, he so often is, Dean frowns in turn.

“What? Find out what?”

“About the insider trading.” Cas’s smile widens. “And there I was worrying you’d find out about the sex work.”

Dean shoves him with the heel of his hand, still careful to avoid the pie. Because it’s pie, right?

“You. Out.”

“Oh right, so phone sex is fine, but a little bit of fraud and you’re dumping me in the snow?”

Leaning over, Dean grabs him, captures lips suddenly, in only one day, familiar.

“You’re a very inconsistent man, Dean Winchester. I thought you wanted me out.”

Groaning, Dean checks the clock on the dashboard. “What time did you say your parents were expecting you?”

A little breathless, Cas subsides into his seat, still with the death grip on the pie.

“Seven, for dinner. We’re going to midnight mass afterwards.”

“So you said, but it’s nearly eight.”

“They’ll forgive me when they see these pies.” Cas peels back the foiled corner of the uppermost pie. The one with the cross and the pecans.  Then he groans. “You’re right they’ll never believe I made them myself.”

“After watching you all day in my kitchen, that what I thought.” Dean winks. Cas flushes, the sappy fucker. “I don’t know what you live off normally—except caffeine." But whatever it is, it’s working.

“Would you mind, if I mentioned you? I mean, you’re not…” Cas stops. “You’re out to me, and Sammy, and Bobby, but I guess that—”

Dean swallows. Benny, Garth. Everyone. Not that he has any other friends, that why, that’s _one_ of the reasons why, he ended up getting therapy on a phone sex line, for fuck’s sake. And now this whole coming out thing’s started, it’s somehow unstoppable, but seriously, Cas’s _parents?_ It’s only been one day.

Sort of.

Four months, in a way.

“I’m making you uncomfortable.” Cas cuts across his thoughts. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll tell them I met a new friend through work. They might wonder, but they won’t push it.”

“Because they don’t want the details of your sex life, being all, religious, and that?”

“Not exactly.” Blue eyes, so blue, soften. “More because they’ll put that together with me being… well, me looking—"

“Well fucked?”

“Happy,” says Cas, boldly, unashamed, though his cheeks are still flushed. “I look happy, and sappy, and yes, okay, very well fucked. You know what ex-smokers are like? Evangelical non-smokers. Well my parents are evangelical ex-homophobes. They’re going to want to meet you, and thank you, and probably shake your hand for taking their son on, and you… you probably don’t need that, yet.”

Dean nods along. Does he? Doesn’t he? He’s not actually sure. He’s not ready for happy families, has never really had that, either in his own fucked-up family, or with any girl. It’s not that it’s _not_ serious with Cas, they both know that this isn’t just a hook-up. There’s something here, something Dean doesn’t dare look at yet. But Christmas with the in-laws, when they’ve spent the entire day sucking each other’s mouths, dicks, and—his inner thighs somehow shiver—his legs. No, that’s a step too far, for anyone.

“Good point,” he says, pulling Cas forward for one last kiss. “Let me help you out with those pies.”

He shuts the door softly, not wanting to call attention to the car, and crosses round the front to let Cas out. Snow is fluttering, ever heavier, and with no chains he’d better get back to the garage before he gets stuck.

Baby’s not built for ditches.

Wedging the door open against the wind, he leans in, takes the 3 pie dishes, as Cas slides across the leather bench and springs to his feet.

What are they going to do with the pies?

Cas solves the problem, and with a quick check for approval, he takes them from Dean and lodges them on Baby’s roof. Dean doesn’t mind, exactly, but Baby’s not a pantry.

On the other hand, it frees up Cas’s hands to do what Cas’s hands do even better than his voice…

They pause panting.

“Better go, before ‘well-fucked’ turns into ‘just been fucked at the end of your drive’.” For safety, Dean tucks his hands into his jeans’ pockets.

“Yeah…” Cas pushes his fingers through his hair. Not helping, dude. “Guess I’d better…”

He flails in the direction of the house, and for the first time, Dean looks at it properly. It’s got a long drive and the mail box with that damned flag, on the perimeter of the property. And it’s too dark to see the house properly, but from the number of windows, it’s big. Bigger than anything Dean’ ever known.

“Rich kid, eh?”

Cas’s lips twist.

“So so, my dad was a headmaster in a religious college, and my mom was a nurse. They didn’t have the money to pay for my in-patient treatment and I was too old for insurance. They had to remortgage. I’m reimbursing them. Not that they asked, but they’ll need it when they’re older.”

“Cool. Well, _not_ cool,” says Dean, who is apparently not very cool at all. “I’d. Well. Better get Baby back, she don’t like snowstorms.”

Cas stares up the road, the snow falling ever heavier. “I told you I should have got a cab. Text me when you get home, or I’ll worry.”

“Hey,” says Dean, pressing a kiss to his icy cheek. “Personal Uber here. We’ll be fine, Baby an’ me. Sam and Bobby’ll be waiting.” Unless Sammy’s got revenge for his thwarted practical joke and is tucking into one of those pies already.

“Okay then, if you’re sure.” Lips quirking another one of those gentle Cas smiles, Cas carefully takes the stack of pies, and with a last kiss to Dean’s cheek, trudges up the driveway through the snow.

“Right,” says Dean, watching Cas for far too long. “Just you and me now Baby.” He scrapes the windscreen free of the snow which has settled even in the last twenty minutes they’ve been standing and talking, and kissing. He grins suddenly, his lips doing it before he’s even aware.

He’s like some kind of giddy teenager. He’d better pull himself together because Sammy is going to rip the everlasting piss out of him, if he goes back like this.

 

***

 

Fifteen minutes later, Sammy is definitely going to rip the piss, because Dean should be at Bobby’s or at least the garage by now, but he’s not, thanks to some fuckin’ idiot who can’t handle an SUV, four wheel drive n’all, forcing them into a ditch. And now Baby will have to cope with the indignity of a tow.

Limping, Dean inspects Baby from the road. She’s well and truly stuck, wedged between the sides, one of the panels bashed beyond repair. As for Dean, well he’s soaking and snow-specked, jeans torn from the broken glass of the window he dragged himself through. No bones broken, but the rusty blotches spreading on the wet denim? Yeah, probably a bad sign. He shivers, fingers tucked into his armpits, and stares up the empty road. The SUV hadn’t even stopped to check Baby was ok. Probably safer, the way Dean’s feeling right now.

He could use a hand, not a lift—he’s not abandoning Baby in this weather—but the road is empty.

Groaning he reaches into his back pocket for his cell-phone, but it’s gone. Fuck. Could his day get any worse? Well, apart from the sex stuff. That was pretty awesome. Suddenly grinning, despite everything, he peers back through the broken window, into the gloomy interior. It must have fallen out his pocket as he was wriggling through.

There it is, right by the door, probably slid over, with the car listing like the Titanic’s final moments.

He drops back into the ditch and round the other side, reaches through, this time tearing his favourite jacket on the jagged glass. At least Baby’s inside is still dry. He’s got some tarp in the trunk, he’ll stick that over the window, keep the worst of the snow out.

Looks like his restoration page is gonna get a few more pictures of Baby.

He switches his cell on, icy fingers struggling to grip.

_“Shit!”_

The battery, at 2%, isn’t going to last long. He hasn’t charged it since dialling for pizza, last night. He was distracted. No surprise there.

He’s got one call. Who’s it gonna be? Cause Cas will be getting anxious if he doesn’t text soon.

It’s gotta be Benny. He can send a truck out, have Baby out the ditch in no time.

Benny doesn’t answer. Nor do Sammy, or Bobby. They’re probably too busy talkin’, about Dean, and his Professor. Sammy still hasn’t gotten over that. Dean with an honest to God Professor.

And talkin’ of Professors, he’d better call Cas. Not that he’s likely to be any use with a car—after the baking, Dean strongly suspects Cas’s skills are more cerebral than practical— but Cas will know where he is, can arrange a rescue truck when Dean’s phone inevitably…

On cue, his phone runs out with a last, lingering whine.

“Two percent,” says Dean, glaring at the black screen. “You said two percent!”

Probably the cold.

Shivering, he stows the useless phone in his back pocket, and takes stock.

No houses in sight, no trucks or even cars going past. No phone. He can walk to town. Only a couple of miles. Easy.

Yeah. ‘Cept his leg doesn’t seem to agree.

He leans over, pokes at the brownish blotches.

Yeah, shit. That hurt. Great, probably some glass stuck in his thigh. It’s getting colder too, and the snow hasn’t stopped its dizzying tumble. He needs to get out of this, and fast.

He’s gonna have to call Cas after all.

House-call, that is.


	2. Any stable in a storm

“Merry Christmas, honey.” His mother opens the door, bathing Cas—and the pies—in warmth, light, and the wafting scent of his favourite Mac n’Cheese. Cas wonders, momentarily, whether Dean’s culinary expertise also extends Mac n’Cheese-wards.

“Oh my goodness, Cas, what are these? Caleb, get down!”

“Pies, pecan and pumpkin.” Cas offers them for inspection but 75 pounds of Greyhound has other ideas, and he has to hold them aloft. “Pecan nuts are non canine-compatible, Caleb. You have quite enough gastrointestinal upset already.”

“He ate a rabbit and vomited in the rose-bed earlier." She takes the pies and lodges them on the hall console. "They look amazing. But three, Cas?”

Cas shrugs as he’s enveloped in a wine-scented embrace, her forehead only just reaching his shoulder.

“One for each of us.”

She raises an eyebrow. “When did _you_ develop an appetite for anything but caffeine?”

“Castiel!” With faltering steps, his father appears in the living room door, his back more stooped than Cas remembers, his face beaming.

It’s been too long since he last came home, but he hasn’t had time, what with The Project and his teaching.

He hides his guilt with pie. “I’ve brought provisions.”

“Are we expecting company?” Cas’s dad holds out his hand, and Cas squeezes it, suddenly noticing how fragile it feels.

“Not tonight.” His mom leads the way to the kitchen. “Honey, these look amazing. They’re not from a shop, they’re home-made!”

“Have you taken up baking, Cas?”

He really should have prepared for this, especially after Dean’s warning.

“He’s blushing!” His mother presses her cool hand to his cheeks, and he just manages to resist batting her away.

“A friend taught me how to cook them, but he’s responsible for the decoration.” He pulls back the foil on the one with the cross. “You know I’m not artistic.”

“A friend. He?” His mother clasps her hands together. “Cas, you’ve been holding out on us.”

“What does he do?”

His cheeks are burning. “It’s all very new,” he hedges. “He’s a student.”

“Not one of yours I hope, son?”

“A student! Isn’t he a bit young?” is his mother’s contribution, as his dad pulls a frosted bottle of champagne from the refrigerator.

“God, no!” He’ll have to give her something. “He’s a Mature student in Business and Accounting. It’s a completely different department.”

She turns to stir a simmering pan of cheesy sauce. “How did you two meet?”

He should not have started this conversation. They’ve got to get their stories straight for one, though obviously, definitely, meeting in the library is the option to go with, for everyone’s sake. But he can’t escape the flush, or the way his veins tingle every time he thinks of a certain reluctant Business & Accounting student, and he knows he’s being all too obvious. Hell, he’s even had comments from some of the students who have seen them in the library together. It just feels like this has been going on longer than two days, and in a way it has.

But it’s still way too soon to be introducing Dean to his parents.

He subsides onto a chair and rubs two wiry ears, as Caleb paws at his leg. He will just have to head his mother off at the pass now, avoid any incriminating admissions, and as soon as Christmas is over, take some time with Dean to work out exactly what they’re going to tell people.

The doorbell rings.

His mom wipes her hands on a dish towel. “Whoever can that be at this hour, on Christmas eve too?”

Cas shrugs, and his father shakes his head as his mom makes her way to the hall, her gait just a little unsteady, the colour high on her cheeks.

His father mimes a wine glass. “We started early, celebrating the end of your project, you know how worried we’ve been. But you look well, son. Happy. Is this new—”

“Oh my goodness! Are you okay?”

They stop as his mother’s voice floats in from the hall. Then—

“Cas, come quickly!”

Exchanged a panicked frown with his father, Cas dives for the hallway, his father close behind. A retired nurse, his mother is a sucker for waifs, strays—and a sob story.

 

***

 

A flustered woman in her early seventies opens the door. Dean steps back, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. He knows he’s tall and strongly-built, and this rosy-cheeked little woman is built on a bird-like scale.

He’d kinda hoped it would be Cas. Simpler all round.

“I’m…uh. Sorry to bother you, Ma’am, but I’ve hurt my leg and I need a tow. My phone’s dead so I need to borrow a phone please.” He shoves his cell at her. Evidence, or something, that the rough looking stranger aint about to rob the house.

“Come in!” She opens the door wider. “I’m a nurse, I can take a look at that leg for you.”

Scratching his jaw, Dean hesitates. He doesn’t want to launch himself into Cas’s family, all unexpected like this.

“Honestly, I’m fine. Just need to borrow a phone, or…” he pauses. He probably looks rough, with all the blood, and his torn jeans. “Actually, I don’t even need to touch your phone, if you could call this number for me my friend'll...”

“Mom! What are you doing? You can’t just—"

Cas appears in the hallway, still in his tan coat. His jaw drops.

“Dean?”

Glancing back, Cas’s mother—it must be Cas’s mother—says, “Do you two know each other?”

Dean takes advantage to sign the universal signal for ‘have you told her?’

Cas, his eyes wide and panicked, shakes his head minutely. He looks like he might be about to have another panic attack.

“What’s going on?” An older-looking man appears in the hallway. He pushes between his son and wife with more strength than Dean would have expected, and looking Dean up and down, he fixes Dean with a stern eye. “Stay there, young man. Tell us what you need, and we will phone for help, but you don’t take one step over that—”

“It’s all right Dad, this is—”

“Dean,” breaks in Dean, before Cas can spin some nutjob story. Cos damn that boy’s got imagination. “I’m a student at Cas’s college.” He thrust his leg through the doorway, into the light. “I got driven off the road by some idjut.”

Cas steps forward, sees, for the first time, the blood splotches on Dean’s jeans. His eyes widen and his fists clench.

“You’re hurt?”

“Nothin’ serious,” Dean says, before Cas can head into a full-on meltdown. “Got a bit of glass in my leg.”

“You’d better come in,” Cas says, faintly.

Cas’s mother steps forward. “That’s what _I_ said, about five minutes ago. You think I can’t take care of myself? I worked in an ER for twenty years, I can read people.” She waves him in. “Castiel! Give the poor boy a hand, he won’t bite.”

Still blinking, Cas steps forward, slips a supportive arm under Dean’s shoulder. “That’s what you think,” he mutters, thankfully for Dean’s ears only, as Mrs Novak leads the way to the brightly lit kitchen.


	3. Bed bugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, sorry, I keep adding chapters. Probably 1 or 2 more to go.

“Right, pants off.” Mrs Novak materialises at Dean’s side, a basin, gauze, and antiseptic wipes on a flowery kitchen tray. She turns to Cas, who is hovering, ineffectually, by the table. “Stir the cheese sauce, Cas. It won’t make itself.”

She snaps on a pair of surgical gloves and raises an expectant and strangely Cas-like eyebrow.

“I’m a nurse. I’ve seen it all before. No need to be modest with me.”

“Or me,” Cas mutters, poking at the saucepan with a wooden spoon. “Is this sauce supposed to be lumpy?”

“No!” say Dean and Mrs Novak, in unison. They exchange a glance.

“Turn the heat down, find a whisk,” says Dean, and Cas glances over his shoulder.

“Apparently  _some_ young men can cook,” says Mrs Novak, eyeing Dean approvingly. “Just not mine. You’d better stay for dinner, Dean, Alan’s calling for the rescue truck now, but on a night like this, I’m guessing it will take some time.”

Dean shakes his head. He still hasn’t removed his trousers. “I don’t wanna intrude. I can get an Uber or somethin’, it’s—”

“Have you seen the snow out there? It’s turning into a blizzard. I don’t even know what you were doing trying to drive on a night like this.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Now, pants off, so I can check you haven’t nicked an artery or something. I’ve just had this flooring put down and I don’t even want to try to get blood out of blonde wood.”

“Er,” says Dean, staring at her. Because…

_Oh shit._

“Pants.”

“I think this is burning…”

As Mrs Novak dives towards the stove, Cas reappears by his side, coatless. “Are you sure you’re all right, Dean? You’re looking a little faint.”

“Your mom’s scary.” Dean waits for him to lean in. “Cas—what about the…”

“Keep whisking, Cas!” Mrs Novak nudges him back towards the stove.

Cas returns to his task, beating the sauce with a… oh for fuck’s sake. The guy’s tryin’ to whisk a roux with a fuckin’ latte frother.

And he’s obviously forgotten all about… last night.

But Mrs Novak hasn’t forgotten her mission.

“I don’t care if you haven’t changed your underwear, I’ve lived with two men long enough. I’ve seen it all, believe me.” Mrs Novak’s gaze is steely. It’s probably the same glare Cas uses on the students who hand their assignments in late.

“O-kay,” says Dean, at last. Because the only way out of this is to hitch up his jeans, and run.

And he’s not sure his legs will cooperate.

He reaches, slowly, for his belt. Maybe if he leans forward, drapes his shirt tails over his thighs. And for fuck’s sake, why isn’t Cas helping him here?

Jesus, for a guy who’s got a fuckin’ doctorate, he’s slow on the uptake.

He wriggles forward, inching down his trousers, aiming for optimal coverage. Thank god, at least, he’s got clean boxers on. Because at some point, he’s going to be meeting Mrs Novak again, if he survives the evening. And he doesn’t want to go through life known as the guy who doesn’t change his underwear.

_Through life, huh?_

There’s a gasp from the stove. And a latte frother drops to the floor with a twang.

“Don’t let it boil, Cas, just keep stirring.” Mrs Novak rolls her eyes. “Honestly, I’ve tried, I have, but for someone so intelligent, he’s sadly lacking in common sense, or kitchen skills.”

Dean’s trousers drop to the floor. “You’ll just have to hope he meets someone who _can_ cook then.”

“Uh, maybe I should just take Dean up to the bathroom.” Cas steps forward, globs of cheese sauce spattered down his shirtfront. “Not everyone is as comfortable with baring all as some of our family are.”

Mrs Novak—who, apparently, is some sorta closet nudist, and Dean _really_ doesn’t want to think about that—is already inspecting the seeping cut on his outer thigh. With all the hair and smeared blood, she hasn’t spotted anything amiss.

Yet.

“I’m a nurse, honey.”

Over her shoulder, Dean meets Cas’s guilty gaze.

_Now? Now you remember?_

Cas shrugs.

“Champagne anyone?” Cas’s dad reappears, a bottle of some fancy-looking champagne, Angel something, held aloft. “You too, Dean, it doesn’t sound like you’ll be driving anywhere tonight, and any friend of Cas’s is a friend of ours, especially at Christmas.”

He exchanges a look with his son, and a flustered-looking Cas smiles back. It’s kinda sappy, but it warms Dean, seeing Cas so loved.

“Oh my, you’ll be our holy guest! We always leave a spare setting at the table on Christmas Eve.” Mrs Novak explains to Dean, as she holds out her glass for a refill Dean suspects is more than her first. “It’s an old Polish tradition. ‘A guest at home is God at home’. We’ve never had a holy guest before.”

“I think _you’ve_ had enough, Nurse Novak,” says Mr Novak. “Here you are, Dean. Champagne anaesthetic.” He pushes a tall-stemmed glass into Dean’s thawing fingers, and Mrs Novak continues her ministrations.

She’s being much more gentle than Dean or even Sammy would be. When he gets a cut at the garage he doesn’t go pussyfooting around with antiseptic wipes, and gauze. He’s even, on the odd occasion, tried to suture himself.

“Oh goodness!” Mrs Novak pulls away with a gasp.

“Er,” says Dean, clutching his glass. He tugs his boxers lower on his thighs, attempting to hide the small purplish marks covering his legs.

“Your legs are simply _covered_ in bruises! Get me an empty glass, Alan. You don’t have a stiff neck, do you, or a bad headache? These aren’t from the accident, these look like—”

“Bites,” says Dean. And chugs the rest of the champagne.

Cas, hovering behind his mother, meets his eye. He looks kinda horrified, and impressed, at the same time.

This is _not_ the way Dean wanted to ‘meet the parents’.

“What on earth were they? It’s not mosquito season.” Suddenly Mrs Novak’s back between his legs, armed with more antiseptic swabs. “Something’s been devouring you.”

“Something—” Dean jerks back as the sting hits the gash on his thigh. “It had wings. I dunno. Some kinda insect, I guess.”

_“Insect?”_ mouths Cas, unimpressed.

“For something so small, it did a helluva lot of damage,” mutters Dean, aiming for death by glare.

“ _Small?”_ Cas’s eyebrows lift.

“You look like you’ve been attacked.” She wipes the drying blood from his knee. “Though it’s strange they’re only on your legs.”

“Bedbugs?” suggests Cas, his voice higher than usual, almost Jimmy-pitch, with suppressed mirth.

_Very helpful._

“Bed-bugs don’t have wings. Let me take a look,” says Mr Novak, gently pushing his wife out of the way. “Entomology was my hobby, as a boy. I kept thirteen stick insects at one point, and I’ve been bitten by pretty much anything you could imagine.”

And that’s just great. This is _exactly_ how Dean wanted to spend Christmas Eve, getting a close-proximity crotch inspection from Mr and Mrs Stepford, aka, his new boyfriend’s parents. With another death glare at Cas, he cups his hands over his package and waits out the examination.

Dean daren’t look down as Mr Novak crouches between his legs, gently probing the marks smattering his thighs. Instead he indulges Cas in a non-verbal blame game, whilst Mrs Novak unwraps a dressing and waits for the diagnosis.

There’s silence.

Despite himself, Dean looks down.

Mr Novak stares right back at him, his lips quirking into a rapidly suppressed smile which has Dean’s face contorting.

Then Mr Novak _winks_ at him.

“Definitely bed bugs, Jane.”

His face now entirely serious, he glances up at his wife. Catches Cas, mouth open, as he gazes down at Dean.

He does a double take.

People actually do that.

Cas’s face crimsons. He couldn’t look more guilty if he tried.

Mr Novak looks back at Dean, his eyes rounding, in appalled recognition this time. And then, as Dean watches, breathless and horrified, he squeezes his eyes—blue like Castiel’s—closed. He opens them again. Swallows.

This guy’s the fuckin’ headmaster of a _religious_ college, for fuck’s sake.

“I think we should open another bottle of champagne.”


	4. Bringing Up Baby

“Are we celebrating?” Cas asks, once they’ve installed Dean, his thigh now bandaged, on the couch in the lounge. They haven’t had a moment alone together since Dean arrived, which is turning out to be something of a problem.

“We thought we should drink to the end of your little project. It _is_ over, isn’t it?”

His father steps forward, champagne bottle outstretched.

“Is what over?”

“Cas’s project.” His mom raises her eyebrows, clearly a little tipsy to even be referring to The Project, however obliquely, in front of guests. “You know the one.”

Cas holds out his glass. “The practical part is finished, now for the analysis.”

“The  _practical_ part?” His mother covers her mouth. “Cas, I thought you said it was all going to be on the phone! It’s bad enough having to talk to, to people like that, but seeing them in person… well it’s _dangerous_!”

“I meant scientifically,” Cas hedges, as Dean stiffens and his cheeks flush dark red. He has to be careful. One ill-thought word, aimed only at reassuring his parents, could crush Dean’s already fragile self-esteem. “I promise you I had no intention of meeting any of the clients in person. Although,” he continues, “Some of them were quite nice honestly, there was this elderly—”

“You shouldn’t have done it at all. I don’t know why you couldn’t just interview some of the…” she falters, glances at Dean, whose gaze is firmly on Caleb, stretched out by the couch, panting.

“Staff.” Cas sets his glass on the side table, and drops onto the couch beside Dean, the better to give some moral, if unspoken, support. “I wouldn’t have been able to document the effects on me, personally, and I doubt my coworkers would have opened up if I hadn’t been ‘one of them’. They would have regarded me as a conceited academic, coming down from my ivory tower to treat them as lab rats, and they’re already marginal—.”

“My son is a very dedicated academic, as you might be aware, Dean. Anyway, Jane, we’re neglecting our guest.” With the air of someone changing the subject entirely, his father brings Dean into the conversation. “I see you’re a dog man Dean, just don’t let Caleb drink your champagne, he has a sensitive stomach.”

Cas’s mother, taking the rebuke, fires her next salvo with a smile.

“What is it that you do, Dean? I don’t think Cas told me.”

Cas whips round to stare at Dean.

Dean, stroking Caleb, with an absurdly soft smile on his face, looks up.

“What?”

“You’re not an academic as well are you? You seem far too practical!” His mother has been entirely won over by Dean’s cooking abilities, and she doesn’t even know about the pie.

"He said he was a student." His father sniffs the air. "Do you think that mac n'cheese is ready? These boys must be starving, they probably haven't had time to eat proper food, with all the, er." He falters. "Last minute shopping."

“Nah, not the academic type.” Dean’s self-deprecating grin sends something swooping in Cas’s chest, distracting him from his father. “I’m studying Bus—”

“He’s a mechanic,” Cas interjects, before the cat is entirely out of the bag. Because the things is, they’ve not had a moment alone. He has no idea whether Dean would be comfortable with his parents knowing all about them, about _him_.

Dean only came out to his own family yesterday. Or was it the day before? It all happened so quickly, after that disaster in the library, that he doesn’t yet have his bearings.

“A mechanic!” His mother is saying. “That’s a good, useful skill. And studying too, I don't know how you find the time. But you're not an undergraduate, surely?”

“A mature student,” Dean says. “In—”

“Baby!” Cas blurts. “You should—”

“Baby?” His mother's eyes widen. “Mature student? Baby? _Cas!_ Is this the…” She attempts some form of eyebrow semaphore but it looks more like she’s having some sort of seizure.

“My car,” says Dean, to everyone’s palpable relief. “My car’s called Baby, I restored her. Here I’ve got some—” He pauses, his hand on his cell. “No battery, I forgot.”

At that point the buzzer goes off in the kitchen. Getting to her feet and tottering towards the door, his mother beckons.

“Cas, you’d better come and help me with the salad, and I’d like your advice on the Christmas centrepiece.” And then as Cas hesitates. “I’m sure your father is capable of entertaining your friend.”

The "friend" was  _definitely_ in finger quotes. 

Dean glances over, his expression pained, he’s trapped of course, his bandaged leg stretched out on the pouffe, a bag of ice packed around it. Cas takes a deep breath. He’s going to be interrogated. They’re being separated on purpose, he can feel it.

“Here,” he says, handing Dean his own, unlocked phone, and getting to his feet. “Show my dad those restoration pictures, whilst I go and prove to my mother that not all gay men have aesthetic sensibilities.”

That should hopefully give them something to focus on, and keep them away from mines and other dangerous topics. Now he just has to handle his mother.


End file.
